Getting to know my neighbor (you're pretty cute too)
by myrishlace
Summary: Sansa meets her downstairs neighbor, Jon, during a blackout. They get to know each other better over Thanksgiving, when Jon's friends from the army come to visit, and Jon learns about one of Sansa's family traditions. Later, Jon confronts some of his inner demons during fireworks around the Fourth of July. Sansa helps him work through them. Mentions of PTSD.
1. Chapter 1

Sansa checked the time. 7:15 pm. She slid the apple pie into the oven while the pizza cooled on the counter. She was singing along to Bruno Mars and cleaning the baking sheet when the lights flickered, dimmed, and went out.

 _Not this again_.

Sansa loved her vintage walk-up apartment in Milwaukee. The building was from the 1920s, and the bathroom had subway tile and a claw-foot tub. Never mind that the "galley" kitchen was only wide enough for one person. She was in the city for the winter, finishing one of her clinics for her physical therapy degree, and she'd been charmed the minute she walked in to the one-bedroom unit.

Now, looking out the window at the sleet icing the sidewalks, she sighed. Burt's number was on a pink Post-it note on the fridge, but she knew the landlord wouldn't come out for at least a day.

 _Do I even have candles? That's what people use in blackouts, righ_ t? Sansa threw a grey sweatshirt on over her blue fleece pajama pants and tank top and started hunting through her drawers in the waning light. Nothing. Not even matches. The battery on her phone would run out soon.

 _I'm going to have to ask him_.

Sansa knocked on the door of the apartment on the first floor. "Hey, I'm sorry to bother you, but the power went out, and I was wondering if you had any candles?"

Jon Snow was in a white t shirt and black jeans. He looked like he'd just woken up, but then again he almost always looked that way when they passed each other in the hallway, sorting through mail. He'd been nice enough to sign for some packages for her when she'd been out of town for Marg's wedding, and that was the extent of their relationship.

"Yeah. Come in." Jon's apartment was neat, clean, almost spartan. He opened up a gray metal box and took out four candles. Sansa spotted a flashlight and a first-aid kit. "What are you, a boy scout?"

"Ex-military."

"Oh." Sansa was at a loss. "Well, thanks very much. Good thing we have radiator heat, right?" She wasn't a total damsel in distress. She knew the radiators were gas powered.

Jon rubbed the back of his head, which did distracting things to his shirt. "They are, but the circulator needs electricity to run. Do you know if your stove has a pilot light?"

"…No?"

"You should check. Actually, it might be safer to turn off the gas to the stove."

Sansa nodded sagely. "Sure. Good idea." Marg's voice popped into her head. _Don't be stubborn, Sansa, you don't know where the valve is, and he's cute. Ask for help. It won't kill you_.

Jon looked at her uncertainly. "Do you need help?"

"That would be great, actually. I was going to try to bluff my way through it, but a gas leak sounds serious."

Sansa lit the candles and put them in glasses. "Please, stay and have some dinner."

"I'm fine, thanks, I should…."

Sansa raised an eyebrow at him. "Go back to your dark apartment, and not eat pizza? It's fresh, I made the dough myself."

Jon smiled. "It does smell good."

They ended up sitting on her old blue stuffed couch, the spinach and mushroom pizza between them. The sleet hitting the windows made the apartment feel almost cozy.

"Where were you in the military?" Sansa licked cheese off her fingers.

Jon seemed more relaxed and at ease with the dark and the quiet. "Afghanistan. I've been back for a few months. It was sort of like this."

"Eating pizza on a couch?"

His eyes crinkled at the corners. "No power. We used to read paperback books with flashlights when the generator went out. A whole lot of waiting. I read the same ones six or seven times."

"What did you read the most of?" Sansa pulled her knees up to her chin.

"Stephen King. I even got desperate and read some Danielle Steele novels."

"Wow. That is some hard-core romance right there." Sansa made a mental note to donate the rest of her paperbacks. "I guess I'll have to reschedule tonight's movie date. I was going to go over to my friend's house to watch 'Guardians of the Galaxy.'"

"I've actually seen that movie."

Sansa tilted her head. Jon didn't strike her as a Peter Quill kind of guy. "Let me guess. Groot's your favorite character."

Jon looked surprised. "How did you know?"

"One, you're both chatterboxes." Jon smirked. "Two, you both like to help people, and you don't ask for a lot of attention. Three –"

The room suddenly roared back to life. Sansa heard the lights click on. "Uptown Funk" blasted through her speakers. Jon flinched as she turned the volume down on her Chromecast. Sansa saw Jon's chest rise and fall. "Sorry. Noises do that to me sometimes," Jon muttered.

"You must hate the guy in apartment 312."

"I could definitely live without the drumming."

They cleaned up the pizza and Jon helped her tidy up the kitchen. Sansa re-started the pie in the oven. "My family's huge. I have to kick off cooking for Thanksgiving at the beginning of November or I'll never get through it. Thanks again for your help, Jon."

"It was no trouble." Jon had his hand on the doorknob. "Goodnight, Sansa."

Sansa was already planning the pizza she'd talk him into sharing next week. "Good night, tree man."

2 months later

 **Jon 5:46 pm** : Can I bug you for a minute?

Sansa zipped her boots over her skinny jeans. She had some more cleaning to do before Jon's friends came by for a belated Thanksgiving, but Jon was cooking, and it looked like he needed help.

"Jon? Hello?"

Sansa heard clanging and a variety of swear words from the kitchen of her downstairs neighbor. Jon looked dazed, surrounded by a haze of smoke, an oven mitt on his hand. She smelled scorched turkey. The fire alarm wailed.

"Jon!" The alarm was too high for her to reach. He switched it off.

Sansa uncovered her ears. "What happened?"

"I don't know, I have the recipe here, I thought it would be done right now but I'm running out of time and it's…"

Sansa touched the bird. "Half-burnt and half frozen."

Jon ran a hand through his hair, his eyes wide. He hadn't told her much about his childhood, but she knew his parents had died when he was young, and he'd grown up with an aunt who didn't treat him well. As he stood in front of the oven, lost, she saw a glimpse of the scared boy he must have been.

"Jon, they're your friends, they won't care." Jon's army friends were stopping by in a few hours. Sansa wasn't quite sure how they'd all squeeze into her apartment, but she figured they'd make do. Besides, she was excited to meet people who might give her a little more insight into Jon.

He sighed. "I wanted you to think I was a good cook."

"I already know you aren't, Jon. Remember when you tried to make roasted garlic pizza?" Jon had been shy and sweet when he'd offered to bring the pizza to their once-a-week get-together. He'd come over every Tuesday since they'd gotten to know each other during the blackout two months ago. The smell of burnt garlic had permeated her small living room, but they'd laughed about it, and ordered out.

Time for the same approach now. "We're going to get fried chicken, and they're going to love it. I've heard your stories about army food. They'll be blown away."

In the end, Sam, Edd, Pyp, Jon and Sansa sat on the floor in Sansa's apartment. She'd passed out beers, and seen Jon glance at her in surprise when she drank straight from the bottle. She giggled as Edd told a funny story about how Jon had pouted when he had to cut his hair in basic training. "All that lustrous black hair on the ground. I swear I saw tears in his eyes." Jon mumbled something about getting more napkins and headed downstairs to grab some.

"So, Sansa, what is Thanksgiving like at your house?" Sam seemed like the most accomplished conversationalist of the group.

Sansa told him about the Stark family "gratitude" tradition as Jon joined them again. "We had a tradition in my family, we'd write what we were grateful for on slips of paper and pick them out of a bowl. We'd take turns reading them. and try to guess whose was whose." She smiled at the memory of Bran reading Robb's slip out loud - he'd been grateful that Jeyne agreed to marry him. Her mother had shrieked and hugged Robb and Jeyne tight.

"Sounds like you all were close." Pyp fiddled with the label on his beer bottle. She had been lucky, growing up, she realized, having her family under one roof.

After they'd finished eating, Jon's friends insisted on cleaning up. Sansa overheard a snatch of conversation as Jon and Sam washed dishes in the galley kitchen. "You two, you know, a thing?" Sam asked casually as he dried a glass.

Jon's ears turned red. "She's my neighbor."

"Yes, I gathered, you living in the same building and all. I think she might like you, Jon." Sansa turned a bit red herself. Was she that obvious about it?

Jon stacked plates in the cabinet. "You don't know that."

"Seeing as I'm not a mind-reader, no, I don't. But you talk, and smile, when she's around, and that's practically a world record for you. You know, we were worried you actually couldn't smile around girls. That maybe your muscles didn't work right, or something."

"Shut up, Sam." Jon's voice was warm.

Jon had one thing left to do that night, and he knew it would take guts. But Sam had insisted. He took a deep breath and made his way down to the lobby. Sam, you'd better be right about this, he thought. Task finished, he turned off the light.

Jon woke up the next morning to find a neatly folded piece of paper under his door.

\+ I'm grateful for you, Jon. I'm glad you're my neighbor and I'm glad we're becoming friends. - Sansa

A warm feeling spread through his chest. He smiled to himself and creased the corners of the page. He knew Sansa would read the message he'd finally screwed up the courage to put in her mailbox.

Sansa woke to snow drifting down from the sky. She wrapped herself in her fluffy blue robe and padded downstairs to get the mail. She was puzzled by the envelope with no address, but smiled when she read the letter.

\+ I'm grateful for you, Sansa. You're funny and kind and you saved Thanksgiving dinner and my mates like you. Thanks for telling me about your family. I hope we can be friends. - Jon


	2. Chapter 2

Sansa was a Chicago native, used to bad winter weather, but Milwaukee's ice storm was trying her patience. She tripped over a construction cone as she crossed the street, and slipped on a patch of ice. A car screeched to a halt inches from her knees.

"Hey! Watch where you're going!"

The driver's face was contorted in a sneer. Sansa didn't deign to reply, just picked herself up, dusted off her coat, and kept walking to the clinic. The grey, cold weather seemed to seep into people's moods. Even Sansa's favorite client, Willas Tyrell, couldn't cheer her up completely, though she did take heart from the progress he was making with his cane.

The mice were the last straw when she got home that night. All she wanted was to collapse on the couch and indulge in the guilty pleasure of having cereal for dinner. The bottom of the cardboard box was chewed through. Again. She swept up the scattered Cheerios and knew she couldn't put it off any longer. She'd try the supermarket across the street.

The store was packed, this close to Christmas, and Sansa fought to make her way through the forest of poinsettias and throng of shoppers. She stopped a surly-looking employee. "Can you point me to the mouse traps?" Finally, she stared at her options in Aisle 6. Was it just her, or was it creepy that the traps were next to the cat toys? She tried to think back, when they'd had this problem once before at home. Robb's friend Theon had set basic mouse traps with spring triggers and cheese. She set her jaw, made two selections, and put them in her cart.

Back at her apartment, she stopped to check her mail, hoping to see Jon. He usually came back from class about this time. She was flipping through Christmas cards when she saw him come in. Sansa smiled and waved. He started to return the smile but glanced at the bag on her arm. He pressed his lips together in a thin line and walked off. She saw him a few more times in the hallway over the next couple of days, but he only averted his eyes and mumbled a few words before leaving. To make matters worse, he begged off on their next Tuesday meal. She was angry with him, and frustrated to discover how much she missed him.  
Sansa only saw Jon regularly once a week, but she saved up stories to share with him, and looked forward to hearing how his classes were going at Marquette Law School. She prodded him to talk to his professors and would it kill him to say hi to the classmates who sat next to him? She'd been excited to tell him about how Willas was doing. But at this rate, she wasn't even sure if she'd give him his Christmas present.

She'd finally settled on baking him cookies. He wasn't one to collect knick-knacks, even though his apartment could use a few pictures to brighten up the beige walls. But that gift felt too intimate, so she'd fallen back to the safe realm of food. She figured dropping off a tin of cookies wrapped in a bow shouldn't scare him off. Though she seemed to have done that all on her own, and she didn't know why, and it was driving her nuts.

***  
The following week was colder, and she had a number of cancellations at the clinic. She headed home early on Friday and ran into the UPS delivery man at the door. "Excuse me, Miss, could you sign for this?" He was shivering. Sansa took the pen automatically. Her stomach flipped when she realized the package was for Jon. She wished the man happy holidays and stood in the hall, pondering what to do. The box didn't look like it came from a family member. She'd almost resolved to lean it against his door, but she knew she and Jon needed to talk. She didn't feel up to knocking, so she lugged the box upstairs and sent Jon a short text.

-Package for you. Stop by.

Jon was at her door a few minutes later.

"Hi."

"Hi. Your package is on the counter. Come on, it's heavy, you're going to have to carry it downstairs." She walked to the kitchen without another word. Jon followed at her heels.

"What's in there?" She was curious despite herself.

He grimaced. "Never mind. Thanks for signing."

"Jon. It's been a long few weeks and you've barely said two words to me and I want to know what's going on."

Jon waited a moment before answering. "Mouse traps," he said, as if that explained everything.

"Excuse me?"

Jon shook his head. "It's not my business." When Sansa fixed him with a glare, he went on. "Your spring traps. I hate those. I saw you bringing them in."

"Yes, I recall the cold shoulder you gave me."

Jon winced. "They're cruel, Sansa."

This was no time to notice how brown his eyes were. "Am I supposed to let the mice eat my Cheerios?"

"No. You catch them and release them. These are catch-and-release cages, I had to order more online, I've already got four set up downstairs."

"So that box is full of mouse condos."

"Temporary shelters."

"Is this why you were angry at me?" She forced herself to be gentle. Jon was struggling to talk. She studied him under her kitchen lights. He was a contradiction, a loner who cared deeply about others, a man who went to war but set traps for mice so he could set them free. "Tell me Jon. Please."

"They didn't ask for this. It's cold, this is what happens when it gets cold, the new construction across the street, it drives them out of their homes, the grasses and the weeds they live under, so they come here. I get more of them down on the main level."

"But where are you going to put them where they'll be safe?"

"I set them free at the lake. I'd rather them get killed by a hawk than by a trap."

Sansa sighed. "Well, I'd better return these." She put the package of spring traps, still wrapped in cellophane, by the front door so she wouldn't forget.

"Wait - you didn't use the traps?"

"No. They seemed cruel, even to me, if you can believe that." She was still miffed at him. "I checked for holes, and found some under the sink. I filled them up with foam insulation and presto, no more mice." Her brow furrowed. "Though I expect you wind up with more visitors downstairs now."

Jon looked abashed. "I'm sorry, Sansa. I shouldn't have assumed."

"No, but here we are. Shall we check your 'temporary shelters'?" She couldn't keep her lips from turning up at the corners.

"Sounds good."

They found two fuzzy captives in Jon's apartment. He tapped the cage. "Hey there, little guys." The larger brown mouse twitched its nose in Jon's direction.

"I think I've figured you out. You'd rather talk to mice than people."

"You might be right about that." Jon leaned back on his heels. "Listen, I can handle this part, Sansa. I know it's late."

"It's 6:30, Jon. Have you ever seen me in pajamas at 6:30?" He flushed, and Sansa hurried on. "The lakefront's the best place for them?"

"Yes."

"Then let's go."

Jon held the cage – Sansa's newfound appreciation for mice only extended so far – and placed the mice in the back seat of his old black Toyota.

"Sorry the car's not washed."

"I think your three passengers forgive you." Sansa fastened her seatbelt. The trip to the waterfront was quick.

The lake was frozen at the edges, with choppy waves breaking against the ice a little ways from shore. The park was quiet, though she could see squirrels running between trees in the patchy grass. Low, heavy clouds hung overhead.

"No hawks, Jon. Hopefully that's a good sign." She rubbed her hands together, wishing she'd remembered her gloves.

Jon put the cage on the ground and undid the wire latch. The mice started sniffing the few tufts of brown grass poking up from the snow. They perked up, ears swiveling. The larger one ventured out first, with the grey mouse following soon after.

"Thank you, Sansa." Jon was relieved, calmer, though his voice was still tight in his chest. She didn't fully understand why this was important to him, though she suspected he'd had to harm others in the army, and the task had brought him no joy and significant pain. His words were so heartfelt that she glanced over and reached for his hand in the dark. They'd been careful, all these months, not to touch each other, even – especially – when sitting close together.

Sansa had daydreamed about loitering at the door with him, hugging him goodbye, leaning into his chest, even tilting her chin to kiss him, and it was precisely because those daydreams affected her strongly that she gave him a wide berth. But tonight, surrounded by trees, feeling the breeze off the lake, she felt braver, more open to showing him how she felt. He laced his fingers with hers as soon as she brushed his hand. His grip was warm and his eyes softened. She felt a current between them, real and electric. They stayed that way until the moon peeked through the clouds and broke the spell. She let go reluctantly as they headed for the car.

They talked easily with each other again on the drive home, and Sansa made Jon promise to come for pizza next Tuesday before they pulled up to the apartment building. Sansa gave thanks for modern heating as they stepped into the hallway. Suddenly she had no reason to keep Jon near her. She turned to walk up the stairs, away from him. Jon was already walking to his apartment. Sansa stopped on the landing.

"Jon! I'm - I'm making you cookies for Christmas." Her voice echoed in the hallway. She hadn't needed to shout.

Jon gave her a warm smile. "You don't have to get me anything, Sansa."

"Weren't you the one who ate two dozen – two dozen, Jon – of my peanut butter cookies in on sitting?"

"You've got me there."

She tucked her hair behind her ear. Jon tracked her movements, and for a brief, bright moment she wondered if he had daydreams too. She bid him goodnight and went to start baking.

***  
Only Sansa would wrap a tin of cookies so beautifully. Jon tugged at the bright red ribbon. A note fluttered onto the table. Resisting the enticing scent of the peanut butter cookies – he really could eat the whole tin, if he wasn't careful – he read Sansa's flowing script. "To: Jon Snow, Hero and Protector of Small Creatures Everywhere." He sat down, overcome. When she'd taken his hand in the park, he'd wanted to pull her close, to brush his lips over her auburn hair, to thank her somehow for her company, for bringing him out of his shell and back into the world. Instead he held on, as long as she'd let him, giving in to the connection between them. He had a gift picked out for her too, but he hadn't worked up the courage to give it to her yet. Next week, he'd do it next week, he promised himself, as he ran Sansa's ribbon through his fingers.


	3. Chapter 3

"I'm so jealous, Jon! A trip to the Virgin Islands with your old army buddies." Sansa had finally gotten the news out of Jon at the end of their meal. They were sitting on the couch in her apartment. She had the AC cranked up. Summers in Milwaukee were hot and muggy. The old, single-pane windows were fogging up, but at least she and Jon were comfortable.

Plus Jon wore t-shirts all the time, so she called the summer a win.

Jon started clearing away the dishes. She followed him to the kitchen. He tried to keep her from helping, since she'd cooked. She took a towel and shot him a _just you try it_ look, so he gave in. Her galley kitchen had a double-basin sink but no dishwasher. They formed their own little assembly line as Jon washed and Sansa dried.

"We planned the trip a long time ago," he said. "For when Sam turned 25. We fly to Miami first. Ten days, five ports. It'll be about three weeks total. We're chartering a boat, so we're not doing the big cruise ship thing. We all know how to sail. I almost cancelled, I haven't got much money-"

Sansa put the glass down a little too forcefully. "Jon, how could you? Sam's counting on you and you deserve to have fun, even if it costs a little more money than you can afford. You can't put a price on-"

"Memories, I know." Jon's mouth quirked. "Trust me, you convinced me about a week ago."

"You only told me about it tonight!"

"I have conversations with you in my head." Jon sloshed the soap around. "Okay, that sounded really strange. I mean, you give me good advice, and I remember it. Sometimes I ask you questions even when you're not there...And that sounds weird too." He paused. "I-"

Sansa took pity on him. Actually, she was touched he thought about her when they weren't together.

"I'm just a little mad that I'm so predictable, is all."

"Don't be. You're really easy to talk to."

"I bet you say that to all the girls who cook you pizza."

"I don't, Sansa."

"Yeah, because I'm the only girl who makes you pizza."

"You are, but–" Jon stopped scrubbing the plate. He closed his eyes. This weight in the air between them came up more often now that they'd been friends for six months. Sansa didn't know whether to lean into it or shy away from it.

She took the easy way out. "So when are you leaving?"

He handed her the last dish.

"This weekend. Can I – Can I write you while I'm gone, Sansa?"

"You're only gone for a few weeks, Jon, you don't have to go to all that trouble." She would miss him though. A lot. She wondered if she looked distraught. He was leaving for less than a month. She was a big girl. She'd be fine.

She tried to lighten the mood. "Besides, we do this thing called texting in the 21st century, remember? I text you about a blackout in our apartment and you come save the day. You text me about a burned turkey and I talk you into ordering fried kitchen when your buddies visit."

"You saved the day, too, on Thanksgiving," he said.

"And we even managed to have a fight about mousetraps over text."

"We figured it out though." He was smiling.

"See? Texting it is."

Jon glanced away. He took the dishtowel from her and hung it to dry, then looked at her again.

"May I write you, Sansa?"

There was so much yearning in his expression that she felt like he was asking if he could kiss her.

"Y-yes, of course, Jon, you can. You don't have to ask. But I won't be able to write you back, will l?

Jon shook his head. "The charter won't take incoming mail. I'll send the letters when we dock. You don't – if they're boring, or too much, just...set them aside."

She wasn't sure why he was nervous. "I'll read them, Jon." She couldn't drive him to the airport because she was visiting her family. But she made him tell her when he was coming back, so she could give him a ride home.

The first letter arrived three days after he left. He'd bought heavy, ivory stationary. Or he'd bought stationary sometime in the past ten years and dug it up, she thought. _Be realistic, Sansa, this isn't a movie_. It felt a little bit like one, though, when she slid her nail under the edge and carefully tore the envelope, sliding out Jon's letter.

He had neat, sloping handwriting. The way the blue ink sometimes smudged reminded her of Arya, and she thought she'd guessed right, that Jon was left-handed.

 _Sansa,_

 _I hope you are well. We've shipped out of Tortola. Don't worry, I know where the life vests are. It's good to see the guys again. We've been realizing how much we forgot about sailing over the past few years, but it's coming back to us. Sam and Pyp and Grenn say hi. Virgin Gorda is next._

 _Thanks for letting me do this._

 _Yours,_

 _Jon_

Sansa smiled. She had asked him about life vests before he left. She knew she was being silly, but she was happy he'd remembered. Other than that, though...she had to admit she was a little disappointed. Jon's letter seemed kind of...perfunctory. She'd expected more, after he'd asked whether he could write to her.

His last line stuck with her, though.

 _Thanks for letting me do this_.

It was hardly a favor to get letters from a friend in the mail.

And his sign-off wasn't so bad, either.

 _Yours, Jon_.

She traced the words in the little yellow circle of lamplight by her bedside table.

She did want Jon to be hers. No harm confessing it to herself here in her bedroom, surrounded by her floral sheets and lace curtains that were completely frivolous. Even if this was the only letter she got, it would be worth saving for _Yours_.

His second letter showed up two days later. She ran upstairs to read it, opening it on the kitchen counter.

 _Sansa,_

 _Virgin Gorda's beautiful. I wish you could see it. You'd like the water, I think, how blue it is in the evening. We did some hiking around the Baths. The grottos and caves are amazing. I can't wait to show you the pictures._

 _The guys have headed out to get food, so I have a few minutes to myself on the deck. It's peaceful here. The sky is filled with stars._

 _How is Willas? I hope he's trying the new exercises you gave him. If anyone can get him to do it, it's you. No one can match you for kindness and stubbornness._

 _We're headed to Anegada next. Wish us luck. It'll be some tricky sailing, but it should be fun._

 _Yours,_

 _Jon_

It was lovely, how Jon asked her questions even though she couldn't write him back. Jon let her chatter on about how her work was going at the physical therapy clinic downtown. He paid attention, too.

Willas was her favorite patient, and she talked a lot about the good progress he was making with his leg, especially now that he had a new brace to wear.

Sansa loved her job. Even her dearest friends, like Margaery, sometimes couldn't keep their eyes from glazing over when she went on about the Pilates equipment they'd just got. Or how she hated charting progress notes, because they took away from the time she had to talk to her patients about how they were doing.

But Jon was thoughtful, more thoughtful than people gave him credit for. He was thinking about her, and her job, and how she was, while he was on vacation looking at the stars.

He'd called her kind. And stubborn. He was right, about both. But then, he was both of those things too. She stacked the second letter carefully on top of the first on her bedside table before she went to sleep. She couldn't wait to read his next letter.

Six days later, Sansa's spirits sank when she swung open the door to her mailbox in the apartment lobby and found only a few sales flyers. Again.

She knew his letters might take a day or two to arrive, and he could only mail them after they'd pulled into the slip at the harbor.

But six days...six days felt like he'd moved on.

She wound her way up the stairs. She let herself in and heated up some spaghetti. She carried it to the couch, feeling sorry for herself. _Did you really think he'd mail a letter at every port?_ He was probably having a ball with Sam and the guys. That was a good thing for him. He didn't get out enough as it was.

She wasn't allowed to mope because he was finally having fun on his vacation and he'd stopped writing to his upstairs neighbor. She needed to get a grip. She pushed her food around and watched some TV before getting into bed. This situation was absolutely fine. No big deal.

And she definitely did _not_ squeal when she found an envelope with Jon's handwriting in her mailbox the next day. Okay, maybe she did, but at least no one was around to hear it.

 _Dear Sansa,_

 _Sorry I couldn't write. There's been a rough storm. Don't worry, we're all fine, but we were all pretty seasick for a while there. Sam's going to kill me for this, but he was the greenest of all of us. I feel bad for him, since it was his birthday yesterday._

 _After not eating anything for two days we were starving, so we had a big meal tonight, steaks and grilled corn. I don't know when you'll get this, but it's Tuesday tonight, and although I'm having a good time (I am, really, I'm living in the moment, Scout's honor) I miss our pizza night tradition. You make the best pizza I've ever had, and I get to sit next to you and share the night with you. It's the best part of my week, every week. I wanted you to know that._

 _We're docked at Anegada. It's secluded, and quiet. We spent some time on the beach today, and we're going snorkeling tomorrow on the reefs._

 _Okay, they're calling me up on deck, I have to go. I miss you. Hope that's not too much. I'll write soon._

 _Yours,_

 _Jon_

A storm. A storm was the only thing that had kept him from writing to her, and now he was apologizing for it. And he'd remembered the bit about living in the moment, which she'd tried to drill into him before she left. _Only one 25th birthday_ and _memories with your friends_ and _don't spend the whole time in your cabin_ and...yeah, she'd probably crossed the line from cheerleading to nagging at some point.

But Jon had taken her words to heart. She smiled at the thought of him and Sam and Pyp and Grenn checking out tropical fish underwater.

She ran a bath that night and used up one of her Lush bath bombs. The water turned pink and fizzy, and she sank into the tub with a contented sigh.

She'd double-checked the packaging this time. She didn't want a repeat of the glitter bomb experience. She'd shown up red-faced at work the next day. It was pretty hard to help patients get the most out of their abdominal series and hip flexor stretches when you were shedding sparkles all over them.

She drew circles with the bubbles on the surface of the bathwater and let her muscles relax, thinking about Jon and what he'd said about pizza night. _Best part of my week_.

It was the best part of hers, too. Sometimes, she suspected Jon felt like he was on the periphery of her life. As if she only thought about him occasionally, since she was more outgoing and had a wider circle of friends.

She took Mr. Duck down from his shelf and let him swim in the water with her. "It's not true, Mr. Duck. Jon's important to me. He's like an anchor. Not the kind that keeps me weighed down but the kind that keeps me steady, you know? Keeps me grounded."

Mr. Duck bobbed his orange beak. Great, now she was talking to a duck. Maybe she missed Jon more than she thought.

He'd said that too. _I miss you._ And it wasn't too much, like he thought it might be. It was just right. She had a warm feeling in her chest as she dried off and laid her clothes out for tomorrow. She wished Jon was here, so she could tell him she missed him too.

Margaery stopped by to visit the next night, and she was her usual whirlwind of nonstop questions. As much as Sansa loved her, Margaery could sometimes drive her crazy.

"This adorable apartment of yours. Made for a magazine. I'd kill for that clawfoot tub." Marg stuck her head in Sansa's bedroom. "What are these, my dear?" Margaery snatched the stack of letters from her bedside table.

"Marg! Put those down." Sansa had planned to tell Margaery about the letters, but she wasn't exactly sure if she wanted Marg to _read_ them. They felt very personal, even if they were short.

Margaery unfolded the pages. "You know this is ridiculously romantic, right?" She sighed dreamily. "A sailor, writing to you from every port."

"Marg, he's made three stops and he's just on vacation with his friends."

"Please. He's sending you handwritten letters on gorgeous paper and–" Marg picked up one of the envelopes.

"The stamps, Sansa, did you see them? They're flowers! Not those American flag stamps. You know he had to ask for them specifically?"

Sansa hadn't known, but she'd wondered.

Margaery put her wrist to her brow, as if she was fainting. "He's thought about this, Sansa, and he asked you if he could. Like he's courting you."

"He's not."

Margaery smirked. "You're not fooling me. You're glowing, my dear."

Sansa smiled. "Okay, yes, it's super romantic and I get butterflies each time I see one and – how's work going anyway, Marg?"

Margaery turned the pages over again. "He seems to be getting more comfortable with each letter," she mused. "You absolutely have to text me when he writes next."

Sansa laughed and waved her off. She wasn't sure if she would text Margaery. She wanted these letters to be just between her and Jon.

Three days later, she got two letters on the same day in her mailbox.

 _Dear Sansa,_

 _How are you? Has Margaery visited yet? Is she driving you nuts? How was Arya's swim meet?_

 _Sorry – I fill up with questions for you, when you're not around. I save up stories to tell you. We just got back from sailing to Jost Van Dyke Island. We managed to make it all the way up Mahjonny Hill. You can see all the way around the island from the peak. You really feel like you're on top of the world, with all of the green hills below you and the sky like a big blue bowl overhead._

 _We're back in Tortola now. We were at the market today. I didn't want to go at first, but the guys dragged me, and I'm grateful. Like I'm grateful for how you encourage me to get out and see things, even when I feel like staying at home is easier._

 _The square was noisy and crowded and colorful and I think you would have loved every booth. I got you something, nothing big. Just earrings I thought would look pretty with your eyes. They made me think of the waves on the ocean, and you._

 _Yours,_

 _Jon_

Sansa's cheeks were warm. She'd loved Jon's Christmas present – a beautiful picture frame, for her holiday photo of all the Starks together. But that gift had been about celebrating her family, not about her and Jon.

She'd thought, at the time, that it was intentionally platonic. Just friends, nothing to see here. Then again, her Christmas gift had been that way too – she'd given him a tin of peanut butter cookies. They'd both been walking the friend line so carefully.

But jewelry – jewelry was intimate. More than just friends. She couldn't wait to see the earrings. And she couldn't wait for Jon to give her a gift that was about the two of them.

She tore open the next letter like she was having a mini-Christmas of her own.

 _Dear Sansa,_

 _We're coming to the end of the trip. We're still docked in Tortola. There was dancing in the square tonight, after the sun went down. The streetlights came on and people came out of their houses as soon as the music started playing. There were old couples and young ones, swaying in the twilight. I only watched, though Sam teased me about it. I'm glad Sam got to dance. Pyp and Grenn did, too._

 _I'd like to dance with you, Sansa, take you in my arms and hold you close and sway with you. (I'm not a great dancer, so swaying is all I can manage.) I try to tell you how I feel, when I'm near you. I just get tongue-tied, and stop._

 _But now that it's nighttime, and I'm back in my cabin, and I miss you so much it hurts, I can write it down. I lo care about you a lot, Sansa. There's part of me that almost hopes you've stopped reading, because I'm scared of how I feel. But you deserve to know, so you can make whatever choice you want._

 _You're beautiful and smart and funny and generous and I've never met anyone who's so patient with me. I'd like to try to be more than friends, if that's something you want too._

 _Please know that whatever you decide when I come back, I'll respect it. I promise I will, Sansa. I'll see you soon._

 _Yours always,_

 _Jon_

Sansa saw a splash on the letter and realized she'd been crying. She wiped her eyes.

She cared about Jon so much it scared her too. She kept stepping away from that feeling, because it was big, and risky. But now she knew he felt the same way. _Yours always._

She drove to the airport early that Sunday, to make sure she could see Jon when he got off the plane. The airport was packed, and she had to elbow her way to the front of the line at the arrivals gates.

She kept scanning the crowd, and suddenly Jon was there. She ran to meet him. Jon saw her, and a mixture of fear and hope flickered across his face.

"Sansa I-"

She didn't let him finish. She threw her arms around him. He dropped his suitcase and pulled her tight, his hand at the small of her back. She buried her face in the crook of his neck and breathed him in. She could smell sunblock and soap and that faint scent of pine she associated with no one but him. She held on to his shirt with one hand and looked up at him.

"Jon, they were beautiful."

"They were about you," he said simply, as if that explained everything. "I had to go away, to be able to tell you how I felt." He smiled at her. "I was so afraid I'd put you off. Did you – did you read all of them?"

She nodded.

"And you're here," he murmured. "In my arms."

She reached up and brushed his hair away from his forehead. They'd spent so long not touching each other, and now she didn't want to stop.

He leaned in and she closed her eyes. His kissed her gingerly, at first, until she ran her hands through his hair, and then he kissed her deeply, hungrily, like he couldn't stand to let her go.

"Get a room, you two!" Someone hollered from a distance.

Sansa tuned them out. She tuned out the crowd of people streaming around them, too. All she felt was Jon, his warmth and his strong arms and how he held her like she was something special, something he cherished.

When they finally broke apart the crowd had slowed to a trickle. She helped Jon with his suitcase and drove him home. They spent the night looking through his pictures, and talking about his trip. Jon blushed when he pulled the earrings from his bag. They were silver triangles, with a crescent of blue-green abalone shell. She traced them with her fingertip.

"I love them, Jon."

"I'm glad, Sansa. I really wanted you to like them enough to wear them."

They kissed him again and again that night, and she went to bed far too late.

Her favorite kiss was the one he gave her at the door. He'd insisted on going back to his apartment. Sansa was half-tempted to drag him to her bedroom with her, but Jon seemed to want to go slow.

"So this – us – this is all right?"

"More than all right, Jon."

Jon kissed her cheek, then tucked her hair behind her ear. "Then goodnight, sweet girl. I'll see you tomorrow."

 _Sweet girl_ saw her off to bed. She wasn't sure where they were going next, but she was happy they'd go there together.


	4. Chapter 4

Sansa had a flyer in her hand. She handed it to him as she stirred the turkey bean soup. The kitchen was filled with the aroma of rosemary and thyme.

Jon's stomach dropped. Fireworks on the lakefront, a week from now.

"We could make a night out of it, I thought. Maybe even go away for the weekend afterwards." She tasted the soup and held it out for him to try.

"Fireworks are my favorite, I love sparkly things, if that wasn't already obvious from the shower curtain."

Jon had to smile, even through the dread tightening in his stomach. Sansa's white curtain threaded through with iridescent sequins was quite a – what had Margaery called it the last time she'd been over for dinner? Statement piece.

Sansa put the spoon back.

"Jon, you're pale. What's wrong?"

He hated that he had to tell her. "I don't think I can, Sansa I – I have trouble, with fireworks."

Sansa's eyes softened. "That first night we spent together, during the blackout. It was hard for you, when the power came back on, and the music started blasting."

Jon nodded, not trusting himself to speak.

"Hey, Bruno Mars isn't for everyone." She threw her arms around his neck. He'd seen her face fall, though, before she hugged him.

They'd been dating for about two months now, and Jon knew Sansa wanted to take a trip with him. She'd mentioned it more than once.

July 4th, though, wasn't going to happen.

"I'm sorry, Sansa. I wish I could share it with you."

Sansa shrugged. "It's all right. Margaery will come, she's looking for an excuse to take Oberyn somewhere for a weekend anyway."

Jon caught her hand and kissed her fingertips. She flushed.

"Jon, I have to finish cooking." She was still holding on to him. He cupped her cheek and kissed her, waiting the whole time for it to happen again. The tension that went though her body. She'd flinched, once, when he'd slid his hand under her shirt, and he'd stopped, right away.

Sure enough, she pulled back. "Wait, the soup!"

She was smiling, but there were tiny lines at the corner of her eyes.

He brushed her hair from her forehead. She hadn't wanted to talk about it, the night she'd drawn away from him. She'd waved it off as "just nerves." But when he'd kissed her forehead and told her it was fine, they could wait, he'd seen relief along with disappointment in her eyes.

Tonight he kissed her cheek. "Do you need help? With the soup?"

She smiled. "Sure. Ready to do some chopping?"

They lined up next to each other. Sansa teased him about his cooking skills, but when he'd told her he really wanted to learn, she'd taken him seriously. By the time the soup was done, Sansa was yawning. Jon told he'd clean up. She smiled at him before she went to take a bath.

Jon was packing the soup into Tupperware for her to take to the clinic for lunch. Sansa came out in her pink fluffy robe. She looked flushed and relaxed. Jon tried not to concentrate on the fact that she was naked underneath that tie.

"It's awesome, you know."

"What is?"

"Having my own kitchen boy."

"I aim to please."

Sansa kissed him on the cheek before he left. Jon felt warmth spread though his whole body. He wanted to turn his head and catch her in a real kiss. But until she invited him, he wasn't going to push her. She meant too much to him for that.

He'd gotten Sansa to understand he had to be alone on July 4th. It wasn't only the big day that caused Jon trouble, though. The pounding headaches he got were clustered closer together as the holiday got nearer.

The large fireworks displays were usually fine. They were scheduled, and he expected the noise. He could handle that, alone. Though he couldn't have taken Sansa, and shown her a good time.

But people in Milwaukee seemed determined to start partying at the end of June. Soon Jon couldn't predict when he'd have to fight to keep from startling, as another backyard barbecue warmed up.

Tonight had been too much, with celebrations popping, crackling and booming throughout the neighborhood. His nerves were shot by 9 pm.

He went back to his apartment as quickly as he could after classes and bolted the door shut. He drew the blinds closed. The sick fear in his gut told him it was only a matter of time.

Sansa texted him. He couldn't answer. All his senses were on hyper alert, and he wasn't fit company for anyone, least of all her.

He'd hoped these days were gone.

But ghosts came to haunt you when they chose. They came on holidays and celebrations, when spirits were high and the world was bright. They had their own agendas and vendettas, and didn't leave until they got what they came for, ripping at you the whole time.

His ghosts were here now.

He saw text after text from her. Finally he turned his phone off. He felt awful as he tossed it across the room. He was the one who'd opened up, and asked for more. Now – now he wasn't sure he could do it.

He had to shut her out. He had to. Because a sniveling, craven boy was not what she needed. Someone who cried as his friend bled out onto the sand was not what she needed.

I'm damaged. Torn up. Broken inside like a clock that won't tick.

The crash of fireworks was coming from all sides. He got onto his mattress and pressed his back to the wall. That helped, and his heart rate started to slow. Until the largest set of fireworks yet started and he covered his head instinctively.

Another explosion went off and it was an IED he heard. All the miles and months between him and Afghanistan evaporated in an instant and he was back, it was happening, it had never stopped happened, he's howling at Satin to get down, get down for god's sake you're too far out!

He could taste the gunpowder in the air and feel the shock of the landmines exploding at random and hear the screams of wounded men, and Satin would be next.

Satin's out ahead because he's quick and quiet and a good scout but he's too ambitious, too confident, and he only throws a smile over his shoulder when Jon yells and Jon's heart sinks.

Satin takes another step forward and the boom of the landmine shatters the air. Jon knows, deep in the pit of his stomach, after his lungs stop burning from racing to Satin's side, that Satin is already gone.

His leg's blown off at the knee and the foam on his mouth is flecked with blood. Satin wheezes as he struggles to breathe, and part of his chest is caved in.

"Easy Satin easy, you're all right, just take it slow."

Satin shakes his head and coughs. Blood spatters on his uniform. Satin, who cheats at cards and loves licorice and never once shies away from ranging ahead, never.

"I'm done, and we both know it, Snow. We both know it."

Jon cradles the back of his head. "You're not going anywhere you're"

– BOOM

He ducks as the sand pelts his back. He has to turn around, assess the damage, keep him men moving. But he can't look, can't find out, because Satin's there in front of him, and Satin is dying.

"You're coming home with us, Satin, you are," and now Jon's pleading with Satin, to stay with him. He takes Satin's hand.

Satin gives him a weary half-smile. "It's all right Jon, it's over for me. Keep going. Keep going." He squeezes Jon's hand, once, before his eyes slid shut, and then he's a heavy weight in Jon's arms, nothing more.

Jon was rocking back and forth, feeling each new blast in his bones.

There was no rhyme or reason to it, why some men would make it through till morning and others would drop to the ground bleeding and broken. Crying out for their mothers. That was something they didn't tell you in basic training. How men would often turn into boys, and beg for comfort in their last moments.

Satin hadn't, though. Jon had begged him for comfort, and Satin had given it to him. It was one of his deepest moments of shame, that he'd cried while Satin died, that Satin had tried to ease Jon's pain as the sand was stained with red.

Now Satin was gone, and Jon was left, and he didn't know why he'd been spared.

 _What would you think, Satin if you could see me now? Hiding in my room like a coward?_

He only heard the insistent pounding on the door when there was a lull in the fireworks.

"Jon. Let me in." It was Sansa, sounding more serious than she ever had.

He was glued to the mattress with his head down. She was going to keep knocking, and he was going to keep sitting where he was, because the distance between him and the door was covered with sand and blood and gore, and he didn't have the strength to cross it.

 _Coward_.

"Jon, _please_."

It was the sob in her voice that made him stand up. He was shaky on his feet, disoriented. He almost sat down and curled up again when he heard another blast. Satin was back, but it wasn't Satin's face he saw. He heard Satin's last words.

Keep going.

He'd made it, and Satin hadn't, and it wouldn't mean a damn thing if he couldn't live the life he'd been given when he was spared.

So he took one step, and then another. The ten feet between him and the door felt like ten miles. He held on to the doorknob for a long time. He pressed his forehead to the cool surface of the door. He could still hear Sansa pleading with him on the other side.

 _Do it, Snow_.

Whether that was his voice or Satin's, he'd never know, but he turned the knob all the same.

As he looked into her blue eyes he felt the shell around him crack. He was out again, raw and exposed but out, out of the nightmare that never stopped. She was the one who saved him, the one who tethered him to the world and he loved her for it, even when he was screaming inside for her to stop.

He could tell she'd been crying and that tore at his heart, just like the ghosts had. But she was real, and alive. With her next to him it was a little easier for him to breathe.

"It's the fireworks, isn't it? The ones that go off at random?"

He still wanted to deny it. But he was too tired and she was too close. He needed her, needed her care and her comfort.

"Yes."

She stepped in and held him.

"I'll take you away, Jon, somewhere that's sound-proofed, somewhere–"

"Hush, Sansa, you can't, it's all right."

She looked up at him. Her cheeks were splotched with red. "But I have to! I have to be able to help you or what good am I to you?"

"You can't fix this. But you've already helped me, Sansa. So much. So many ways, beautiful girl. These are days I have to go through by myself."

She didn't like it. She didn't like it at all. But she left him, finally, after holding him tight. He was sad to see her go. He was also a tiny bit relieved. She'd be off, soon, for the long weekend, and he wouldn't have another chance to disappoint her.

She knocked on his door again the next morning.

"We're going to Hayes State Park in Michigan for the weekend. I looked it up online, they're far away from big fireworks displays, and they only allow sparklers." Her chin was high and set.

He sighed heavily. "Sansa–"

"I know, Jon, I know, I can't fix you with a camping trip, or a state park, or a pair of headphones. I know that, don't you understand? But I'm asking if I can help you, even just a little bit. I'm asking you to try to let me in."

Come with me, she was saying. Be brave enough to try.

He paused. "Sansa, I might still get–"

She shook her head. "I don't need you to be perfect, Jon. But if we're going to be together, you have to let me see the parts of you that you want to hide away. You have to meet me halfway."

Her hands were trembling. He realized, slowly, much more slowly than he should have, that he was at risk of losing her if he said no.

He swallowed.

 _Keep going_.

"All right, Sansa. You – you deserve someone better than this."

Sansa took his hand. "You're the someone I want, Jon. Take this vacation with me. You won't have to write letters this time, because I'll be there."

He'd told her that he wanted to share stories with her. That he wanted the two of them to go on adventures.

He gathered up his courage. He took a deep, slow breath.

"Well, I do have a lot of camping stuff. Should we figure out what to pack?"

She squeezed his hand, and smiled. "I figured the guy who kept a blackout toolkit would be a good bet for camping gear."

The sun would be high this weekend, and the world would be bright.

He could stay by her side, ghosts or no ghosts.

He gave her the best smile he could manage.

"You bet right."


End file.
